Big Fish

This morning I headed out the door at six thirty to buy a side of salmon from the Fish Markets. Sydney's Fish Markets are a bit of an institution (and conveniently very close to us) - on Christmas Eve, people queue for hours to buy their kilos of prawns and octopus and other wonderful fresh seafood. Fortunately, as it's still three days till Christmas, it wasn't actually crowded, so I managed to get there and back by about 7am. By 7.30 the gravlax was done and starting its three-day curing process.

There wasn't room for it in our existing fridge, so I walked up to the new house with it ... It could take us a long time to move house one dish at a time, I know.

The movers are booked for the 29th of December. That's exactly a week away. Boxes arrive today. I am already overwhelmed at the thought. It's been eight years since we last moved and I fear we have accumulated many, many more books in that time.

Although the new house is almost finished, the library won't be done until some time in January, so there will be dozens of boxes of books just sitting around. I never feel at home until my books are on shelves.

The Gift

A while back Duchesse blogged about Veronique Miljkovitch, a Canadian fashion designer.

I was instantly enamoured of her clothes, but she doesn't have an online shop, so I was going to shrug and do something else when I decided I'd just email and ask. Veronique came straight back to me to say she'd happily send stuff to me in Australia. So I ordered these.



The dress is in a sort of donkey grey; the top in a delicious purply burgundy (I love the blue, but it's not one of my colours).

Soon after I'd ordered them, mater posted about gifts 'to me, from me'. That made me feel a little bit better about spending money on clothes when I should be buying Christmas gifts and finishing a house ...

They arrived this morning. They are absolutely gorgeous. I had that thought, as you do, when looking at the clothes on a model, 'oh, they won't look as good on me'. They do. I love the dress so much I am going to wear it just to do my day-to-day stuff today.

The Santa Clause

Thank goodness for the lovely Northern hemisphere blogs I read. Summoning the fortitude to bake Christmas goodies when it's 28 degrees and sunny outside - and I'd rather be somewhere airconditioned, AWAY from my oven - can be a challenge. But I love imagining what it might be like to do the same thing when it's cold outside and dark early.

Growing up in Singapore, the weather at Christmas was much the same as it was all year, only sometimes wetter. We used to have our dinner on Christmas Eve - civilised and sensible in that climate - and visit people on Christmas Day.

Down in the Antipodes, we (or at least the family I am part of) cling tightly to our English notions of a Christmas lunch, so every year it's the turkey and the ham and everything else (hot) ... but usually outdoors. By mid-afternoon the children are normally having water fights.

An Australian Christmas is all about summer - mangoes and cherries, long evenings, lots of seafood, loud cicadas, sandy children and cold beer (or wine).

Nevertheless, I persist in baking shortbread, rolling chocolate truffles and heating my kitchen to unbearable temperatures.

The Colour Purple

Today I had my 'no jeans' meeting. So I wore a violently purple dress with a leopard print scarf. Add my almost strawberry-blonde hair and my shocking orange toenails, and I think I was scarier than I would have been in jeans.

So imagine my surprise when the other 'creative' (woman from ad agency) came into the meeting in black skinnies (and hair that looked like it might not have been washed too recently). Clearly she didn't get the memo. But you know what? I enjoyed dressing up a bit ...

The Nightmare Before Christmas

I am not looking forward to Christmas this year. As my only family in Sydney is my brother, we spend every Christmas with Andrew's family. Much as I love them, I am getting a little weary of the ever-enlarging Christmas lunch - last year there were people there I didn't even know!

This year, again, we have to drive quite a long way, to share lunch with about 30 other people. To add insult to injury, my gravlax (which I make every year) has been rejected as the starter.

To soothe my cooking ego, I thought it would be nice to cook a Christmas Eve dinner in the new house, for just our family (and Andrew's parents and siblings ...). I planned gravlax for starters, followed by roast duck with pickled cherry sauce - and I'm still thinking about dessert.

Unfortunately, we have a plumber who simply fails to turn up, so at the moment it looks like the only thing I will cook in the new house for Christmas might be a cup of tea. This is significantly damping my Christmas spirits.

Perhaps if I bake up a storm of gifts for school this weekend I will regain my Christmas mojo ...

The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants

A couple of days ago I got a call from a client I haven't worked with for a while. They have a new project coming up and want me to come in for a briefing. Time and place agreed for meeting - all good. Then yesterday I got an email saying 'By the way, the meeting place on Level 19 has a 'no jeans' dress policy'.

Well, I wasn't actually going to wear jeans anyway. I don't wear jeans to briefings. Call me old-fashioned.

But I did wonder how it works. I'm not staff, so do they have any right to tell me what to wear? What would happen if I did turn up at Level 19 wearing jeans? Are there bouncers or door bitches? Even better, is there a denim sensor in the lift? Would I be shown out the door for being inappropriately attired? It's almost tempting to give it a go ...

My Own Private Idaho

I'm not a particularly assiduous blogger at the best of times, but it surprised me how just one week of not being able to blog broke me of the 'habit'.

My week in the countryside of Tasmania was lovely. I didn't even have phone coverage most of the time. I had excellent plans to get up early and meditate and do yoga before starting on my baby-wrangling duties, but although I woke at about 5 every morning, instead of getting up, I luxuriated in the silent comfort of my bed until about 7am.

Most days I just planned and cooked meals, did laundry and housework and grocery shopping, cuddled/pacified/took away the baby and annoyed the toddler (by saying 'No' occasionally), and reassured my friend that the screaming baby was not ill, just a baby, and the feral toddler was not ill, just two years old and angry about the new arrival ... I also drank many cups of tea and went for a few walks. I wanted to work on their veggie garden as well, but I felt that I was already being enough of a bossy nanny-type person, so I resisted the urge.

I came back, and suddenly it was December. I hate that. I love Christmas, but I am staggeringly unprepared. I haven't even got the lights up on the house.

The other house is at a point where the end might just be in sight, but I don't want to jinx it. Come Christmas itself, the process of moving begins.

In the last week I have learnt several things about building/renovating a house. Here are my top three, which are no doubt familiar to anyone who has done the same thing:

1. Everybody says you will go over budget. They are right. How on earth are you supposed to factor in things like escutcheons if you don't know that they exist or how much they cost? (But it's a cool word, isn't it?) And why are taps so expensive?

2. This is not the time to have faith in everyone. There is always someone out there who will try to take advantage of any trust you put in them. Most people will do the right thing, but not all.

3. Skilled, scrupulous tradesmen are valuable. Pay them well, praise their work and pass on their details.